The Return Of Adams Cade
Bj James
He came back to Belle Terre to save his family's plantation, but seeing Eden Claibourne again had Adams Cade fighting his long-buried desire for the woman he'd never forgotten. The enticing tomboy had turned into a sensual goddess–one whom he longed to lure into his bed.But Eden deserved a man who could offer more than fiery, short-lived passion. Would his first love's tantalizing kisses convince this jaded loner to let down his marriage-wary guard?
Adams Didn’t Want To Speak Of The Past, Or Even The Future.
He didn’t want to think of anything but Eden. “You are beautiful.”
“I’m not really beautiful, Adams. I’m only Eden, and once just one of the guys.”
“Sweetheart—” his drawl was unconsciously seductive “—it’s been a long time since you were one of the guys.”
At her look of surprise, Adams’s first instinct was to fold her in his arms, to show her in ways words never could that she was beautiful. So beautiful the memory of her moonlit image had been strength and solace for a lonely man in his worst days.
He’d known beautiful women. But never in love. Never in tenderness. And no matter how he’d searched, none had been Eden.
Now she was here, only a forbidden touch away….
Men of Belle Terre: Honorable, loyal…and destined for love.
Dear Reader,
Silhouette is celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000, and the latest powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire are as hot as that steamy summer weather!
For August’s MAN OF THE MONTH, the fabulous BJ James begins her brand-new miniseries, MEN OF BELLE TERRE. In The Return of Adams Cade, a self-made millionaire returns home to find redemption in the arms of his first love.
Beloved author Cait London delivers another knockout in THE TALLCHIEFS miniseries with Tallchief: The Homecoming, also part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL. And Desire is proud to present Bride of Fortune by Leanne Banks, the launch title of FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS, another exciting spin-off of the bestselling Silhouette FORTUNE’S CHILDREN continuity miniseries.
BACHELOR BATTALION marches on with Maureen Child’s The Last Santini Virgin, in which a military man’s passion for a feisty virgin weakens his resolve not to marry. In Name Only is how a sexy rodeo cowboy agrees to temporarily wed a pregnant preacher’s daughter in the second book of Peggy Moreland’s miniseries TEXAS GROOMS. And Christy Lockhart reconciles a once-married couple who are stranded together in a wintry cabin during One Snowbound Weekend….
So indulge yourself by purchasing all six of these summer delights from Silhouette Desire…and read them in air-conditioned comfort.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
The Return of Adams Cade
BJ James
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
BJ JAMES’s
first book for Silhouette Desire was published in February 1987. Her second Desire novel garnered for BJ a second Maggie, the coveted award of the Georgia Romance Writers. Through the years there have been other awards and nominations for awards, including, from Romantic Times Magazine, Reviewer’s Choice, Career Achievement, Best Desire and Best Series Romance of the Year. In that time, her books have appeared regularly on a number of bestseller lists, among them Waldenbooks and USA Today.
On a personal note, BJ and her physician husband have three sons and two grandsons. While her address reads Mooresboro, this is only the origin of a mail route passing through the countryside. A small village set in the foothills of western North Carolina is her home.
Contents
Foreword (#u190d72c4-6935-54ca-86d4-4d7e617133ec)
Prologue (#uada310dc-0a61-560e-83a3-1586730ad22b)
Chapter One (#u50c86296-f42a-51ef-b0f4-227d9ddb8b12)
Chapter Two (#u8844c27d-02c5-5ea3-b0da-74d0be94a308)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
FOREWORD
In the coastal Lowcountry of South Carolina, where the fresh waters of winding rivers flow into the sea, there is an Eden of unmatched wonders. In this mix of waters and along the shores by which they carve their paths, life is rich and varied. The land is one of uncommon contrasts, with sandy, sea-swept beaches, mysterious swamps, teeming marshes bounded by ancient maritime forests. And a multitude of creatures abide in each.
In this realm of palms and palmettos, estuaries and rivers, shaded by towering live oaks draped in ghostly Spanish moss, lies Belle Terre. Like an exquisite pearl set among emeralds and sapphires, with its name the small, antebellum city describes its province. As it describes itself.
Belle Terre, beautiful land. A beautiful city.
A very proper, very elegant, beautiful city. A gift for the soul. An exquisite mélange for the senses. With ancient and grand structures in varying states of repair and disrepair set along tree-lined, cobbled streets. With narrow, gated gardens lush with such greenery as resurrection and cinnamon ferns. And all of it wrapped in the lingering scent of camellias, azaleas, jessamine and magnolias.
Steeped in an aura of history, its culture and customs influenced by plantations that once abounded in the Lowcountry, as it clings to its past Belle Terre is a province of contradictions. Within its society one will find arrogance abiding with humility, cruelty with kindness, insolence with gentility, honor with depravity, and hatred with love.
As ever when the senses are whetted and emotions untamed, in Belle Terre there will be passion, romance and scandal.
Prologue
“Yes, sir, the controlling interest in the company is mine. No, sir, it isn’t for sale.” The expected acknowledgment was spoken softly. The rejection was delivered in courteous respect.
But not one man among the phalanx of powerful corporate elders mistook the softness, the respect or the courtesy. Men such as those seated in the subtly but flawlessly appointed office had not come unprepared. Each executive who sat so coolly beneath the steady gaze knew this much younger man was a southerner of good family, born and raised on an historic plantation in coastal South Carolina. Each knew he was a superb analyst and engineer for offshore oil rigs; an innovative, intuitive inventor, an astute investor, a canny businessman.
He was Adams Cade, at the relatively young age of thirty-seven the most promising young intellect of the modern business world. An exile from home and family. A convicted felon.
It was for the first this corporate board had come calling. For the latter that none misjudged gentle courtesies as weakness.
“Adams…if I may call you Adams?” Jacob Helms rose confidently from his seat. A tall, thin man, immaculately tailored, his every move was patrician, every word concise. “I realize Cade Enterprises has not been and will not be offered for sale.”
Pausing, his faded stare locked with the unwavering silver-brown regard. Remembering another daring young lion challenging the old guard long ago, he almost smiled. “For that reason, we’ve come offering a different opportunity.”
After a moment spent inspecting a wall hung with a mélange of superb paintings and yellowing photos, Jacob Helms continued, “We propose a meeting of the minds, an alliance, so to speak.” A brow arched, Helms’ head cocked in Adams Cade’s direction. “The first time you’ve heard that, I wager.”
Adams’ expression was noncommittal. “Why?”
The question brought Jacob Helms up short. Peering over gold-rimmed glasses, he asked haughtily, “Why haven’t you heard this proposal before?”
“No, sir, why am I hearing it now?” With a look at the men who waited to witness their leader’s prowess, he added, “Why with the board of Helms, Helms, and Helms in tow?”
Helms paced, then turned with the grace of a ballet master giving his best performance for a new disciple. “Why, indeed.”
Adams leaned back in his seat, an audience of one, waiting for the curtain to lift over the real show. “Indeed.”
“The answer is simple. Because we can offer the perfect deal. An alliance with a company offering services and products that mesh with your own.” Hesitating, the venerable blue blood looked about him. “And because we’ve come offering millions.”
A sweeping gesture indicated the small, uniquely efficient operation of Cade Enterprises, visible beyond a wall of windows. “Tens of millions.”
“Why?” Adams’ expression didn’t change. “For what?”
“For whom.” Helms corrected, his voice theatrical, as he moved in for the coup. “For John Quincy Adams Cade, eldest son of Caesar Augustus Cade. Scion of an elite family of South Carolina’s low country. For you, Adams Cade, and your expertise.”
“Until you pick my brain, then toss the shell of the elite Adams Cade aside.” The master inventor, Southern gentleman, family exile and ex-con almost smiled then, as well.
To the rustle of the board’s horrified mutterings, Jacob Helms spoke with the thunder of an itinerant evangelist. “Never. That’s the beauty of an alliance. Safety.”
“So—” Adams folded his hands over his rigid stomach, thumbs tapping a slow tattoo “—what’s in it for me besides money?”
“What more would you want?” Jacob Helms and his chorus of yes-men were stymied. “I don’t understand.”
“No,” Adams said softly. “I can see that you don’t.”
“But would you consider our offer?”
Adams’ answer was slow in coming. As he sifted through information garnered over the years on Helms, Helms, and Helms. Which comprised a reputable consortium, taking values to a higher level. An enterprise of honor, guided by men of honor. “Yes.”
The response was barely a whisper. In his surprise, Jacob Helms almost dislodged his gold wire rims. “You did say yes?”
Adams nodded. “Yes, sir, I will consider your offer.”
Jacob Helms was accustomed to fighting on his own turf. In this, a battle he wasn’t sure he would win, he had brought his distinguished board of directors as a show of force. Now the battle seemed to have been won in the first skirmish. Chastising himself for boosting millions to tens of millions, he moved quickly for closure. “Would you shake on that, young man?”
“Would you take the word of an ex-con?” Adams countered.
“I would take the word of Adams Cade no matter that he has been in prison.” Bemused, the elderly man reversed, reiterated, “No, I would take the word of Adams Cade because he has survived five years in prison and emerged a better man.”
“In that case, contingent on the agreement of my staff and certain others…” The telephone at Adams’ elbow rang. He almost ignored the insistent summons, but ended in lifting the receiver from its cradle. “Yes, Janet?” A frown pulled at his face, marring the controlled expression. “Jefferson!”
Brown eyes that seemed to lose their touch of silver grew ever more lightless. “Put him through.”
The room was quiet, all eyes riveted on Adams Cade, whose heart saw beloved faces present only in yellowing photos. “Jefferson?” Adams neither moved nor spoke again for a long-held breath. Then, softly, he murmured, “Jeffie?”
The childhood name tumbled from a man carrying the pain and hurt of years. “How are you? Lincoln? Jackson?” In a faltering stumble his voice dropped lower. “How is he? How is… Gus?”
The once pleasant and amiable expression contorted in sorrow. The handsome face turned ashen. As still as death, Adams listened. His body jerked, recoiling from the news. Then he straightened. “I’ll be there.”
With the receiver halfway to its cradle, he brought it back to his ear. “Jeffie?” Adams hesitated. Then, dreading the answer to the question he must ask, he closed his eyes, shutting his immediate world away. “Did he ask for me?”
Silence swarmed in the room, broken only by the scrape of a shoe. No one moved again. They were strangers, caught in a cruel vacuum until Adams sighed, his chest shuddering. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “I didn’t expect he would.
“Don’t! Don’t be sorry. No matter what your conscience would have you believe, none of this is your fault.” Sighing again roughly, in a voice grown deeper and huskier, he repeated, “I’ll still be there, as soon as the plane is ready.”
Adams listened again, oblivious of his captive audience. “Not there.” His words resounded in irrevocable decision. “I’ll come to Belle Terre. Not…” The word home hovered on his tongue, then was lost. “Not to the plantation…not to Belle Reve.”
The men of Helms listened avidly. Adams didn’t care. “From the city limits of Belle Terre to Belle Reve is less than five miles. Hardly a taxing distance.
“Where will I stay?” Adams shook his head, pondering. “I’ve been away so long I don’t know any places. Make some suggestions— I’ll have Janet do the rest.” Taking up a pen, on a notepad lying squarely in the center of his desk Adams scrawled the sources of lodging in the quaint city. “These should do it. Janet can gather information, then choose for me.”
Laying the pen aside, Adams slipped back a cuff to check the time. “Just a matter of hours, Jeffie. Hang tough.”
As the receiver rattled into place, Adams Cade stood, only then recalling his visitors. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid we must continue this conference another time. My father is ill. I will be leaving Atlanta immediately.”
“You can’t go,” Jacob Helms snapped with an edge of steel. This was the voice of command, meant to send minions scurrying to do his bidding.
Adams Cade had never been a minion. Anyone in his right mind would doubt he knew how to scurry. “You’re mistaken, sir. I can leave. I am leaving.”
“We had a deal.”
“No, sir,” Adams corrected the proper gentleman. “We were on the verge of making a deal with a contingency.”
A flush across his cheeks signaled Helms’ anger at the upstart’s contradiction. As he looked to his board and back again to Adams, he barely managed to quell his ire at being defied, even so genteelly. “We’d spoken our agreement.”
“We’d spoken of agreeing to agree, if all elements fell into place. For now, they can’t.” Adams rested his curled hands on the walnut plane of his pristine work space. “This meeting was your idea, the conditions your choice. Listening to and accepting or not accepting your proposal was mine.”
“Was?” Jacob Helms, for all his arrogance, had not built his business empire by being obtuse.
“Yes, sir.” Adams straightened. “Was is the operative word. Now that choice has been taken from me.”
Bracing himself on the desk in a parody of Adams’ recent posture, Jacob Helms leaned close. “Your brother calls to say your father is ill, and you’re going to delay a multimillion-dollar deal?”
Adams only nodded, not surprised Helms knew he had been discussing his father, and his father’s health, with Jefferson.
“For a man who disowned you, a man who will not even look upon your face, you would risk the loss of our offer?”
“For my father I would risk anything. And for my father I must leave.” Turning to the board, he spoke pleasantly. “Gentlemen, you must excuse me. I have a plane to catch.” With that courtesy and no more heed of Jacob Helms or his multimillion-dollar alliance, he strode from the room.
After an absence that seemed forever, Adams Cade was returning to the South Carolina low country, the land and islands of his youth.
The land, the islands and the father he loved.
One
“He’s here, Mrs. Claibourne. And totally dangerous!”
Placing the last blossom in the massive flower arrangement that would soon grace the lanai of the river cottage, Eden Claibourne, mistress of The Inn at River Walk, stepped back. Carefully she inspected her artistry, nodded approval and turned, at last, to address the breathless young woman.
“Where is he, Merrie?” Her voice was hushed, musical, with only a hint remaining of the Carolina low-country accent.
Merrie, the youngest, prettiest and most impressionable of the staff, clasped her hands before her in an effort to calm herself. “I took him to the library as Cullen instructed and assured him you would be there shortly.”
“Thank you.” A probing look took in the young woman’s face, made even prettier by a dark, dancing gaze. Merrie was the daughter of a friend of a friend, a student at the local college and a newcomer to Belle Terre. Yet, obviously, the reputation of the arriving guest had preceded him even into the halls of the inn. “You do realize he isn’t dangerous, don’t you, Merrie?”
“Not dangerous, Mrs. Claibourne. Dangerous! With a capital D, because he looks so handsome.” Merrie laughed. “That’s how the girls in my class would describe him.”
“Ah, you’re studying slang now?” Eden chuckled, for normally Merrie rarely noticed the opposite sex, handsome or not. The girl’s first and last love was horses. “Slang aside, did you offer our guest a drink? Or a glass of chilled wine?”
Merrie’s head bobbed, sending an ebony mane ending in curls cascading nearly to her waist. “Mr. Cade prefers wine later, in his room.”
“Excellent.” A slim hand rested lightly on the girl’s shoulder, as Eden Claibourne remembered when Adams Cade had the same effect on her. The vernacular of the time was different, but the effect was definitely the same.
Putting memories best left in the past aside, Eden addressed Merrie in her usual sensible tone. “If you would please ask Cullen to have the wine steward select several wines, then, if he would, take these flowers with the wine to the river cottage, I shall greet our newest guest.”
Certain beyond doubt her instructions would be followed to the letter under the critical eye of her head steward, Cullen Pavaouau, Eden Roberts Claibourne hurried to the library.
Through the years many influential guests and many celebrities had chosen to stay in the gracious antebellum home Eden had transformed into an inn. But even before she’d returned to Belle Terre to reclaim and rescue the beautiful old landmark from crumbling ignominy, as Nicholas Claibourne’s wife, she had known what it was to live and move among the wealthy and near wealthy, the famous and soon-to-be famous. Yet in all those times, in all the places the Claibournes’ travels had taken them, in all the social and professional circles into which they had been welcomed, no one set excitement ablaze in the heart of the mistress of River Walk as had Adams Cade.
“Good grief! I’m as bad as Merrie.” Halting in the cool, broad hall, her hand resting on the carved door that stood slightly ajar and opened into the library, she caught what she intended to be a relaxing breath. Sweeping her pale-brown hair from her face, she adjusted her blouse and brushed a leaf from her slim skirt. Muttering, “Mr. Dangerous with a capital D, indeed,” Eden squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
He was there. Adams was there, standing with his back to the room, looking out over the grounds and the broadest expanse of the river. Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn’t hear her approach, affording her a precious instant to look at him. Time to seek out the changes the years and life and prison had wrought.
He seemed bigger now. Not taller, but more massive. A better fit for the breadth of his shoulders than his youthful slenderness had been. A product of maturity and time. As were, she supposed, the hints of silver threading through his thick, perfectly barbered, perfectly groomed hair.
Eden never knew what disturbance drew him from his thoughts. A raggedly caught breath? Some subtle scrape of her foot over the parquet? The wild-bird flutter of her heart?
As if thirteen years had not passed since he’d seen her, Adams Cade turned, his gaze a solemn touch on her face.
Beneath the elegant, worldly veneer that Eden Claibourne presented, the memories of a young girl quickened and trembled like the unshed tear on the sweep of downcast lashes. Visions of the wild, beautiful young man he’d been danced like living flames in her mind and heart. But when her gaze lifted to his, her eyes were clear, their brightness natural, and she searched the grave and handsome face for some trace of the laughing young rogue.
The rogue she’d loved in her reticent tomboy days. The days when all who knew her called her Robbie and she’d trailed behind Adams and his brothers at every opportunity. Like a shadow attached to his heel, she’d taken every step he took, risked every dare he dared. All for a smile and a teasing ruffle of the riotous curls her grandmother kept cut short.
Now, in the fall of light from the library windows, keeping his gaze, she searched again for the dashing young man the exuberant rogue had become. For Adams, the friend and champion she’d thought lost to her forever in tragedy that sent him to prison. Adams, her first and tender lover.
But in the silvery depths of his magnificent brown eyes, she saw no rogue, no laughter, no memories. Only cool control.
He was the epitome of rugged splendor in his immaculate suit. With the proper shirt, proper tie, proper shoes, the proper haircut, recalling another night he had been splendid, yet not so proper. A night of breathtaking wonder.
Thirteen years had passed since the night of her debut.
She was nineteen then, and a freshman in college. He, twenty-four and, in her eyes, a man of the world. Yet to her delight he agreed to be her escort for the season. Willing, for pesky Robbie Roberts, to suffer the formalities and the endless galas he found annoying and boring. The night of the ball, he was so gallant and so handsome she loved him so much it hurt.
After the presentation and the bows and the ball, as they walked a deserted beach in bare feet and formal clothes and with hands entwined, she never wanted the night to end. When he kissed her in the moonlight, drawing her down to the sand, she went hungrily into his arms. In a struggle for sanity, when he would have drawn away, it was her clumsily worshiping hands that kept him. Her naive touch that seduced.
When sanity was lost, the yards of her white satin gown became their lovers’ bower. And in that moment of rapture, the moment when the name he called was Eden, she discovered that the pain of love could be its greatest pleasure.
The night was magic. Adams was magic. And when he kissed her good-night one last time on her doorstep, she never dreamed it would be thirteen years, and this day, before she saw him again.
Thirteen years and a lifetime of remembering.
In a silence that had been only seconds but seemed forever, as she looked into eyes that revealed no secrets, she knew he hadn’t forgotten. But she wondered if he ever remembered.
A harsh breath threatened the perfect drape of his jacket as something akin to regret flickered over his face. Yet, with that small lift of his shoulders, he seemed to shake off a mood. Taking a step forward, his hand extended and palm up, he waited with the hard-learned patience of prison.
She wouldn’t have refused this silent, cautious man if she’d intended it. She couldn’t if she tried. As silently as he, she placed her fingers over his palm and felt the warmth of his firm and gentle clasp.
“Eden.”
In a voice barely more than a whisper, he called her name. Not Robbie. Eden. The name he’d said only once before on a moonlit night on the beach. Then she realized her mistake and understood that no matter what terrible things had happened to him, no matter who he had become, Adams Cade had never forgotten, and never stopped remembering.
“Your hair is darker.” His voice was low and resonant with the years of added maturity. “I remember blonde curls.”
Eden nodded as his gaze ranged over her, from shoulder-length bob to the sweep of her brows and the curve of her cheek. Pausing only the beat of a faltering heart on the tilt of her lips, he let his look glide intimately over the arch of her throat, the soft thrust of her breasts. Then the slender curve of her hips.
“You’re taller, more slender,” he murmured as the darkness of his gaze retraced its path to meet hers.
“Only a bit,” Eden assured him. Though at nearly thirty-two, she knew the softness of youthful curves had gradually become an inadvertent but fashionably angular leanness.
“I never thought to be in Belle Terre again. Nor did I expect to find Robbie Roberts returned as the beautiful, sophisticated Eden Claibourne, innkeeper extraordinaire.”
“Nor did I,” Eden admitted, regaining a bit of her composure. “But you’re here, and I am who I am and what I am. So welcome, Adams, to River Walk, and to my home in Belle Terre.” Her fingers still clasped tightly in his, she smiled up at him. “Because I thought you would be tired from your journey, the river cottage is ready and waiting for you.”
“Cottage?” He looked down at her in a gaze that was less guarded, if not yet at ease. “I won’t be staying in the inn?”
“Of course you may stay in the house itself, if you wish. But first, take a look.” Drawing him back to the window with its view of the grounds and the river, she gestured toward a building. Perched by the river’s edge, the single-story structure was nearly hidden by trees and plants scattered about it.
Small, in comparison to the main house, and quaint, it lay in dappled but deepening shadows as the setting sun streamed through moss-draped oaks. Within that shade, immense azaleas, camellias and oleanders blended with palms and palmettos. Clustered so thickly about its courtyard, the groomed and tended plants afforded an additional element of seclusion.
“There are porches on each side, with a lanai and a separate and private walk on the riverside,” Eden explained as he studied the cottage with a look of approval. “I thought you might prefer the privacy, at least at first.”
Adams nodded, grateful for her thoughtfulness. Returning to the low country, and the harsh days it recalled, was difficult enough without facing curious stares. A day or two of quiet to acclimatize and inure himself in the time and tide of the city would ease the way as much as it could be eased. “Thank you, Eden, for your kindness.”
“A consideration more than a kindness, Adams.” With a shrug of a shoulder, Eden dismissed the hurried but exacting care that had gone into each detailed preparation for Adams’ stay at the inn. Hopefully he would never know the mad furor the knowledge of his impending arrival had inspired.
With belying composure, she paraphrased a lecture she gave the staff almost daily. “Part of the charm of the inn is that we match our services to the unique needs of our guests.”
“Then I thank both you and your staff.”
Something in his tone made her regret her cavalier dismissal of his gratitude, and especially that she had made him seem to be just another guest. Adams had become a prominent man, a celebrity in the business world. She was sure, for that reason, he had become the object of much catering and courting. No, he wouldn’t be a stranger to special attention. But how often from the goodness of an unselfish heart? Because someone cared about Adams himself, rather than the hope of remuneration or favor?
“Adams,” she began, and discovered she didn’t know how to explain, so she settled for honesty. Touching his cheek as if she would stroke away the pain of lost years and of wounds that had never healed, she spoke from her heart. “I’m glad you’ve come, and I want you to be comfortable and happy in my home.”
Suddenly feeling presumptuous for the liberty she’d taken, Eden drew her hand away and offered her most cheerful smile. “But enough of this.” Folding her fingers in her palm, keeping the memory of the feel of his skin beneath her fingertips, she suggested, “You must be tired and hungry after your flight.”
“It has been a trying day,” Adams admitted as he strove to remember how long it had been since a lovely woman had touched him so gently and smiled only for him.
“Then as meets your pleasure, sir—” Eden inclined her head, in concern and genuine respect for an old friend “—tonight and any other time. You may make of your stay what you wish. Whatever suits your needs—privacy, seclusion, companionship, involvement. Meals in the main dining room or in the cottage. Whatever fits your schedule and your mood will be done to the best of the staff’s ability. All you need do is ask, Adams.”
At the moment a quiet meal away from prying eyes and with someone who didn’t insist on discussing business incessantly was Adams’ pleasure, and the perfect end of a disturbing day. “Dinner in the cottage sounds wonderful, but I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your staff.”
Glad for a chance to put aside the scintillating leap of tension touching him had caused in her, Eden smiled. Then she laughed, recalling how her staff engaged in friendly disputes for the privilege of dodging out of the busy dining room that served citizens of Belle Terre, as well as guests of the inn. Sometimes the break meant a quick smoke. Sometimes simply a breath of fresh air. “It would never be considered an inconvenience. In fact, there are volunteers anxious to serve you tonight.”
“Then I’d like that, Eden. As I suspect you’ve already guessed and planned for.” Turning his back on the view she’d offered, he looked down at her. His gaze touching her hair and her face once again was like a remembered caress. “I’d like it even better if you would join me.”
His voice was deep and rich, like velvet stroking her skin. Each quiet nuance stirring a longing better left in slumber. “I usually make a practice of being in the dining room most evenings,” she demurred. “Greeting guests, smoothing ruffled feathers when there are any.”
“When there are any,” he challenged. “Which is…”
The confident look he gave her made her smile again as she confessed, “Which—because I have a superb and efficient majordomo, a well-trained and wonderfully loyal staff—is, truthfully, very rarely.”
“Ahh, just as I thought when I arrived. A well-oiled, thoughtfully run operation.” Tucking her hand in the crook of his arm, he continued to stand before the windows. At his back the sinking sun turned massive oaks dressed in Spanish moss into bewitching shadows etched against the fire of the sky.
“So,” he said persuasively, the pad of his thumb stroking her fingers as they curved over the fine fabric of his jacket, “though you would be missed, no guests would cry into his or her vichyssoise or the peaches Grand Marnier, if they must suffer through one night without your lovely smile to greet them?”
At her look of surprise, he chuckled. A slightly wicked sound that triggered more memories and sent her pulse rate into orbit. “You seem to know quite a lot about the inn. Down to our guests’ favorite spring specialties.”
“Thanks to Janet and no credit to me.”
“Janet?” Try as she might, Eden couldn’t keep the curious note from her tone. His familiar mention of a woman was startling. For though she couldn’t define or explain her conviction, Adams Cade had the look of a man uninvolved and unattached.
“My secretary.” His stroking ceased, his hand folded over hers, keeping it against his arm. “My very efficient secretary, who learned quite a lot about The Inn at River Walk, but found no mention of the luxury or the privacy of a river cottage.”
“The cottage isn’t advertised. We rent it sparingly, keeping it free for guests with special needs.”
“Like Adams Cade, the black sheep returned?” Adams grimaced, the touch of wicked teasing faded from his words. “Adams Cade, whose reputation precedes him, I’m sure. At least, if small-town gossips are as I remember.”
There was the hurt again. Hurt he thought to hide with brusque conjecture. But neither time nor tragedy had irrevocably changed the timbre of the tones she had learned to read, and loved beyond measure, in days past and months and years.
With the last of laughter flown before pain she would give her soul to heal, Eden met his look solemnly. “Yes,” she said, her clasp convulsing over his arm. “For guests like Adams Cade, because he is Adams Cade, and very special.”
“A convicted felon, an ex-con, a brawler, the disowned black sheep of his family,” he said, ticking off only a few of his sins. “How could that make me special?”
“You’re none of those things to me,” Eden protested. “None. And small-minded gossips with their ugly whispers to the contrary be damned.”
Turning to her, taking both her hands in his, Adams searched her face, seeking the bravado, the bluster of a comforting lie. But he found only serene, unshakable honesty. “What was I to you? What am I now, my lovely Eden?”
Eden. The name of a woman, not a favorite tomboy. A name that made her heart sing.
“What were you?” A pensive look touched her eyes and lips as she smiled at him. “So many things.”
“Such as?”
“When I was shy and distant, without a clue how to be part of the group, you were my mentor, my champion. You made me feel like a princess, though I was painfully graceless and gawky.”
When she hesitated over the next of her memories, Adams spoke into the silence. “You were too pretty and too smart for the rest of us. Never graceless or gawky, except in your own mind.”
When he was with her, that was how he made her feel, what he made her believe. From the first, with Adams she was always more and better. Always happier. “When my grandfather brought me with him to Belle Reve…”
“Go on,” Adams encouraged. “The name doesn’t disturb me. What happened that last night might have taken my home and family from me, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten good times or good memories. I can hear the name and think of Belle Reve and all it stood for without being bitter. So tell me, Eden.”
Resisting the urge to clear the pain that lay like a cramp at the base of her throat, Eden was still hesitant. For no matter that he encouraged her, she had to believe that speaking of the family and the home he’d been denied would open old wounds.
“When your grandfather brought you…” he prompted, and smiled through hidden sadness when her gray gaze probed his.
“When my grandfather brought me with him to Belle Reve to treat the horses—” Eden, defeated, took up the thread of her story “— I was enchanted by the house, the land and what seemed like herds and herds of horses. But most of all I was enchanted by you.
“Even if you deny it, Adams Cade, I was graceless, I was gawky, I stuck with you like a cocklebur. Yet you were patient and kind beyond belief. You were older, but you never treated me like a nuisance.” Smiling into his steady gaze, Eden murmured, “When I look back, I count you as my first and best friend.”
“And now, Eden?” There was raw need in his look. A strong man’s need for a friend.
Eden wanted to end the hurt, silence the rejection. She wished that by caring, she could free him from the control that ruled his life. Replace this cautious, solemn stranger with the wonderfully wicked charmer of old. She wanted to hold him, comfort him. And if he should love her…
Abandoning a thought that was going where she never intended, a thought she dared not pursue, she kept his gaze. “You were my friend. I hope you will be again.”
Perhaps if he would be, this time she could repay the kindnesses that were most instrumental in molding her into the confident woman she’d become.
All of Belle Terre knew the irascible Gus Cade had fallen ill. All knew of the dissension in the Cade family. In the years since Adams was convicted of aggravated assault, Gus had made no secret of his bitter resentment of the disgrace his oldest son had brought to the family name. An opinion some of Belle Terre would share. One others, even most, would not. While Adams stayed at River Walk, she would be his champion as he had been hers. And God help any who uttered a harsh judgment within her hearing.
“I’m to be your friend and you will be mine, right?” Adams looked down at her, the edge of tension easing from his face. With her hands still nestled in his, the pads of his thumbs traced lazy caresses over her knuckles. “Then you can begin by having dinner with me at the cottage.”
“You said you were tired,” Eden protested. “And surely you will want to speak with your brothers.”
“If I’m tired, you’re the most restful thing that’s happened to me in a long while. I spoke to my brothers from the airport shortly after landing. If there’s any change in Gus’ condition, Lincoln and Jackson and Jefferson all know I’m here. None of them would hesitate to call. And I’m sure your efficient staff would see to it the call was put through to me.
“So as it stands now, all bases are covered. In the meantime, Eden, my sweet, I’m holding you to your promise.”
“My promise?” Eden had made no promises she remembered.
“‘Then as meets your pleasure, tonight and any other time, you may have whatever you wish,”’ he quoted word for word.
“Oh.” Eden blushed at the implication of the words.
“Yes, ‘oh.’ And my pleasure tonight would be a quiet dinner in the cottage, in your company.” His low laughter teased, almost as in the past. “Give it up, sweetheart. I have you cornered. You’re caught on your own hook. You promised, and something tells me you’re a woman who keeps promises.”
“This is blackmail,” Eden accused. Demurring, even as she knew that when he was like this—so much like the boy and the young man she’d known and loved—she could deny him nothing.
“Perhaps it is, but you won’t refuse.”
Eden saw then that the old confidence was there. With it, the added confidence of a survivor. The confidence of brilliance that could analyze a problem, then create a solution that would bring him to the forefront of the business world. Confidence that had faltered only in the land of Belle Terre and Belle Reve, where his father lay grievously ill.
Confidence that lived and would continue to live within the walls and grounds of River Walk. Eden was adamant.
“No,” she admitted after a thoughtful pause, “I won’t refuse. I will have dinner with you in the cottage.”
But not like this. She would not go to the man she had loved all her life grubby from a day’s work. “Why don’t we both freshen up? Merrie, the young woman you met earlier, will show you to the cottage and take your order for dinner.”
“I would prefer that you choose. My tastes haven’t changed so much.”
“All right, I’ll see to that first, then come to the cottage in forty-five minutes or so. That should give you time to settle in, have a drink and relax a bit before dinner.”
“You will come to the cottage?” he asked in a tone she couldn’t fathom. “Your word on it, Eden?”
“My most solemn word, Adams.”
“Then I’ll wait here for Merrie.” Satisfied at last, releasing her, he stepped away and, with a gallant bow, settled in a chair by the window.
He was still sitting there lost in his thoughts when Eden passed by on her return from the kitchen. Pausing, her hand on a curved stair rail, she watched through the open library door and remembered. “Adams, in my home,” she murmured, then she smiled as she climbed the stairs to her third-floor apartment.
“Have you wondered what simple soul gave such a beautiful body of water the unimaginative name of Broad River?” Eden leaned against a column as the last of day faded from river and sky. The dinner she’d shared with Adams was long finished, Cullen’s carefully supervised choice of wines nearly gone.
“It is magnificent,” Adams agreed. “Evenings like this are among the things I miss most.”
“The quiet time. Watching the play of color over the water. First the blues, which deepen to turquoise, then navy. Next comes the fire, wild and glittering. Then gradually the darkness seeps in, and reds become burgundy and maroon. Then simply black.” Eden spoke as if with her voice she might break the peaceful spell that had fallen over the evening.
“All the better to reflect the silver path of the moon.” The equally subdued, masculine voice drifted out of the darkness.
Adams sat in the recesses of the lanai, hidden within gathering dusk. But with the creak of the swing and the pad of his footsteps, Eden knew he’d come to join her at the railing. Once upon a time he’d smelled of sunlight, sea air and soap. Now, when he was near, she thought of boardrooms, shuffling papers and expensive cologne. But that could change.
“You could come back, Adams.” He was near, so near she could touch him if she dared. “You could come home again. If not to the plantation, then to Belle Terre.”
Adams only shook his head. He didn’t want to speak of the past or even the future. He didn’t want to think of anything but Eden. Trailing the tip of a finger up the back of her arm, letting the flowing georgette of her long, full sleeve add its own caress to his, he moved a step closer. “Thank you for this—the welcome, the cottage, dinner and the wine. And especially for the company.” He laughed softly. “Even the floor show.”
“We aim to please.” Eden chuckled huskily in response. Even while she fought to quell a shiver as his touch sent a fever shimmering over her skin in the blazing wake of his body heat. She knew his touch was not hot, yet it burned into her, deliciously seducing her. Mindlessly, hardly aware that she spoke, she murmured, “Mother Nature gets credit for the floor show.”
“She’s quite a beautiful lady. And so are you.”
Looking away from the river, she found Adams looming over her. A tall, dark form with the touch of heated velvet and a voice as smooth. “I’m not really beautiful, Adams. Perhaps it’s a trick of the light, the rosy glow. Or a mood or the wine. I’m only Eden, and once just Robbie, one of the guys.”
“You are beautiful. It isn’t a trick, a glow, the moon, or the wine. And, sweetheart—” his drawl was unconsciously seductive “—it’s been a long time since you were one of the guys.”
At her look of surprise, Adams’ first instinct was to fold her in his arms, to show her in ways words never could that she was beautiful. So beautiful the memory of her moonlit image had been strength and solace for a lonely man in the worst days of prison.
He’d dreamed of touching her then. He wanted to touch her now as a lover, as he had only once before. But that was a lifetime ago. Too much had happened. The Adams Cade she’d made love with on a sandy beach was not the man with her now.
He’d lived too long among the hardened and the ruthless. To survive he acquired their brutal ways and habits, the ways and habits of power. He lived his life as best he could, with honor and in truth. But deep inside he’d grown hard and bold, taking what he wanted, keeping it for only as long as he wanted.
He’d known beautiful women. But never in love. Never in tenderness. And no matter how he searched, none had been Eden.
Now she was here, only a forbidden touch away. The same sweet Eden, unsullied beneath the worldly elegance. But in the harshness that marked his life, he was wrong for her.
Perhaps they could be friends, as she asked. But never lovers, as he wished.
“It’s late,” he declared firmly, the rush of his breath warming her cheek. “This has been a long day for both of us.”
Catching the scarf draped like a shawl about her shoulders, he drew her close. Touching his lips to her forehead, he savored the feel and fragrance of her. But knowing this was all he could have of her, all that he dared, he put her from him.
Stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, he whispered, “You’re tired. I’ve asked too much of you this day.”
“No—”
A finger brushing her lips silenced her protest. “Come,” he insisted, taking her hand. “I’ll walk you home.”
She didn’t protest again. Not even when he kissed the sensitive flesh of her wrist, thanking her most gallantly for a lovely evening and for the pleasure of her company. Nor when he left her in the shadow of the sprawling back porch of River Walk.
Eden watched until the darkness washed over him and hid him from sight. She watched and waited, but he didn’t turn, he didn’t look back. And he didn’t hear as she whispered. “Good night, Adams Cade.”
Then, in a voice husky with tears, as Cullen stepped from the shadows, she whispered, “Good night, Adams, my love.”
Two
“Mrs. Claibourne.”
Eden looked up from the basket of flowers she was gathering while they were still glittering with dew. Shading her eyes against the early-morning sun, she realized that it was Merrie rushing toward her. As the girl came closer, Eden saw her face was flushed, her eyes bright, and the lovely mass of dark curls tumbled in fey disorder down her back.
Certain something was dreadfully wrong, Eden slipped off the supple leather gloves she used for gardening. Tucking gloves and shears into a pocket, she waited for the outburst.
Standing in the rising heat of the unseasonably warm spring morning, she watched Merrie weaving though the garden and wondered what problem had thrown this most vivacious member of her staff into a dither. Visions of termites swarming over the lower porches or mice in the pantry filled her thoughts, even as she knew that termites and mice would never cause this agitation in one so new to the foibles of ancient Southern homes.
“There’s more!” Merrie stopped, barely avoiding Eden.
“Whoa!” Eden exclaimed as she steadied the girl. “Calm down and tell me what in heaven’s name has you so excited. There’s more, you say? More of what?”
“More of them,” Merrie managed between heaving gasps.
“‘Them’?” Eden lifted a questioning brow as she found the oblique answer even more puzzling. “What? Who?”
“The other presidents.”
Eden was totally baffled now. “What presidents? Where?”
“The Cades.” Merrie caught a long breath, then spoke more calmly in faultless English just acquiring a touch of the Southern lilt. “In the library. The inn is full of them. The more they come, the more dangerous they are. Except for the first.”
“Adams’ brothers,” Eden interpreted rather than asked, not really certain having the three younger, brawling Cades on the premises was less disconcerting than termites on the porch or mice in the pantry. Disconcerting or not, it would be interesting, she thought as she continued her interpretation. “And, as with Adams, dangerous meaning handsome—or better.”
“Mr. Adams’ brothers,” Merrie confirmed. “But totally different and totally handsome.”
“And these presidents are in the library?” Eden chuckled in spite of knowing she really shouldn’t encourage such unbridled exuberance in her staff. Still, she doubted Merrie’s initial reaction would last. Not even a bevy of dangerously handsome men could supersede her greatest love.
“Since that was where you asked me to take Mr. Adams when he arrived, I was sure it would serve for the rest of the family.”
“Of course it does,” Eden agreed. “You did well. But next time, try to announce them with a little more composure.”
“I’m sorry.” Merrie was instantly contrite. “It’s just that no one warned me that the men of Southern North America were so…so…” Shrugging away her loss of words, she settled simply for redundancy. “Dangerous.”
Eden wondered if she should explain that the Cades were a breed apart, and certainly not men against whom others could be measured. But, deciding some things were better learned than told, she kept silent, waiting for Merrie to complete her report.
“They asked to see Mr. Adams,” the girl continued as expected. “Since you gave strict orders that he was to have no unannounced visitors unless you screened them, I thought the library was best. Mrs. Claibourne, I hope it was all right that I asked Cullen to see if they wanted coffee and muffins.”
“That’s perfect, Merrie. What you did was exactly right.”
“Should I get Mr. Adams now? Or take the gentlemen down to the river cottage?”
“No,” Eden said thoughtfully. “I think not just yet.” Given Merrie’s description, she didn’t doubt that it was Adams’ brothers who waited in the library. She couldn’t think of a soul who would be brave enough, or foolhardy enough, to misrepresent themselves as Cades. Even so, she would see for herself and judge the mood of this visit before Adams was disturbed.
“These flowers are for the suite in the west wing,” she told Merrie with her usual calm. “The Rhetts are scheduled to arrive just after lunch. In case I’m delayed with the Cades, would you see to arranging them and getting them to the suite?” Anticipating the answer, Eden offered the dew-laden flowers.
“Of course.” Merrie took the basket. “My mother often asked me to do the flowers when she entertained.”
“I know. Do your best, Merrie. That’s all I ask.”
“I will, Mrs. Claibourne.”
“I know,” Eden said again. She’d spoken truthfully. She did know Merrie would do an excellent job. All the staff at the inn put their best effort into any task they were assigned. Eden had striven to assure their working conditions were pleasant and rewarding. In turn the staff was phenomenally efficient. So efficient that Eden was confident that even in her absence, the inn would continue as usual.
Grateful for her good fortune and anticipating a meeting with old friends, she hurried to the house. Even as the back hall door closed behind her, Eden heard their voices. Deep, masculine voices. Familiar voices she had known all her life.
The library door was ajar and her step was quiet, but not one of the stunning and uniquely different young men was unaware of her entrance. In an instant each was on his feet, vying to be first to hug her, first to kiss her. And in Jackson’s case, she feared, first to threaten the strength of her ribs.
It would have been overwhelming if the anticipated jousting hadn’t been a common occurrence since she’d known them. They were the Cades, not just a breed apart from other men, but among themselves. Yet, in their differences, once they had been a close family. Eden hoped they could be again.
“Lincoln,” she said in greeting as the tallest, and second oldest, took command, virtually lifting her off her feet.
Before his kiss was finished, she was snatched away by Jackson, the fiery one. Whose exuberant bear hug, as expected, literally took her breath away.
“Hey, brother, don’t break her in half or you’ll have our older brother to contend with,” Jefferson said as he gently extricated her from Jackson’s brawny arms.
Jefferson, the quietest of the four, clasped her shoulders, looking her up and down as if inspecting her for injuries. Then he laughed, muttered something about being indestructible and beautiful, and drew her in his arms. “How are you, Robbie?” he murmured against her cheek. Then, in a breath, “How is he?”
Putting her from him, but not letting go of her hand, he asked in an oddly desperate tone, “How is Adams?”
“He was tired when he arrived, and deeply concerned about Gus. But one of the staff informed me he had an early breakfast. Though not so early that I would think he didn’t sleep well. I’m hoping that means he’s rested.” Going with Jefferson to the sofa, she took the seat he offered.
For all that he lacked in compassion, Gus Cade had never stinted on social instructions for his sons. They might have been prone to mischief and each had scattered the wildest of oats, but few in conventional and proper Belle Terre could match Jefferson, Jackson or Lincoln for gallantry. And only one could best them, Eden recalled. Only the first of them. Only Adams.
Taking the coffee Lincoln poured from a silver server and cream from the pitcher Jackson offered, she sipped dutifully before continuing her report. “Adams is staying in the river cottage. I thought it would be more suitable for your reunion.”
Eden knew that in direct defiance of Gus Cade’s decree, the brothers had seen each other sporadically over the years. But never in Belle Terre. Never so close to home and Gus.
None of them wanted to hurt Gus, but nor were they willing to abandon their brother as the father had. Secrecy and distance had been the answer. Yet when Adams came to River Walk, Eden hadn’t doubted that Lincoln, Jackson and Jefferson would come, as well.
Looking from one startlingly attractive, startlingly different brother to the next, Eden wondered why life had become so busy that they saw each other so little. Even so, she knew she mustn’t keep them. None would think of rushing her, but she realized that beneath the decorum they were eager to be with Adams.
“When I went to the garden this morning, the grounds-keeper said he had seen Adams down by the river-cottage dock. I assume he’s still there.”
“He’s here,” Adams’ voice drifted to them from the open doorway. “Dropping off some fish for dinner.”
Clasping her cup tightly to keep from dropping it, Eden looked to the door. Before his brothers surrounded him, she saw the perfectly barbered hair was disheveled, the perfectly tailored suit had been exchanged for a cotton shirt and denims, the perfectly shined shoes for sneakers. Best of all, in the smile he flashed at her, she saw the ghost of the young man she’d loved.
Lincoln was first to speak as they clasped hands to forearms as they had as boys. “I’ve waited for this, for the day you would come home.”
“Not home, Linc, but close enough, I suppose.” Though his pleasure in being with his brothers was heartfelt, the hurt in Adams’ eyes was not so skillfully hidden. “But wherever, whenever, it’s good to see you. All of you.”
“Adams.” Jackson clasped the other arm. Each man’s brawny forearm was aligned, with their hands circling the muscles barely below the elbow of the other. A salute began as a secret ritual of boys survived to become the affectionate gesture of men.
Watching discreetly, Eden wondered how many times she had seen these proud, vigorous men display their affection. That the brothers loved one another and their father deeply was forever evident. Only Gus, who had driven his sons without mercy, judged without compassion, had never offered an iota of affection.
Only Jefferson, the youngest, had ever seemed to matter to the caustic old man. Being Gus’ favorite might have made Jefferson’s life easier in some ways. But, as few could understand, Eden knew that in the ways that mattered most it made his life far more difficult.
Perhaps there was some explanation for the special bond that had always existed between Adams, the whipping boy, and Jefferson, the favored son. One even Eden could never fathom. It was simply a tie none but the Cades could understand.
As Lincoln and Jackson stepped away from Adams, Jefferson was there, standing before him. Not touching him, not speaking, only looking. No two men could look less like brothers. But with a single glance, any but a fool would know.
In spite of the fact that one was dark-haired and dark-eyed, while the other was blond with blue eyes, there were inexplicable similarities. Similarities caught in a look, a gesture, a tilt of the head. The flash of a smile. A rare laugh.
They were all sons of Caesar Augustus Cade, but with different mothers. Not one bore any resemblance to Gus, except in pride and determination. In looks, each was his mother’s son.
In choosing his wives, Gus had seemed determined to create a family as diverse as possible. Adams’ mother was of French descent. Lincoln’s, a Scot. Jackson’s was Irish. And Jefferson’s, a Dane. All women with nothing in common except uncommon beauty and a distinct lack of staying power. Thus, with nothing of Gus, the common denominator, in their physical makeup there was little reason for the existence of any other similarities. Yet, with their strong-willed father the only constant force in their young lives, there existed an indefinable element proving they were brothers, and men of a kind.
Eden couldn’t explain the phenomenon in the past. She couldn’t explain it now. But as Adams and Jefferson faced each other in a room gone silent, she was never more aware of it.
Beyond the windows the garden was alive with bird-song. In the freshening breeze live oaks swayed and whispered, the old house shifted and creaked. Every sound seemed magnified, and every observer frozen in place as the odd moment dragged by.
Then Adams smiled and hooked a palm around the younger man’s neck to draw him into a brother’s rough embrace. “Jeffie.”
The childhood name eased the building tension. Soon all four were laughing, talking at once. Setting down her cup, meaning to slip away, Eden circled around them to the door. She’d almost reached her goal when an arm slid around her waist. Gentle fingers splayed circumspectly over her midriff drew her back against a hard, brawny chest.
Adams. She would know his touch anywhere, anytime.
“Where do you think you’re going?” He leaned so close his breath fanned a stray tendril that curled against her throat. “You aren’t escaping us so easily.”
Laughing, with a sense of old times revisited, Eden turned, expecting he would release her. Instead, she found herself standing in the circle of his arms as he kept her close.
“I wasn’t escaping, Adams.” She was pleased she could speak naturally when he touched her with familiar intimacy.
“Then you always sidle out the door like a shadow?” Adams lips tilted in the smallest of smiles. “Strange. Of all the things I remember about you, that isn’t one of them.”
Eden cast a startled look at Adams, but saw no hint of double entendre. “I wasn’t sidling. I wasn’t escaping.” Still caught in his embrace, she drew herself up to her proudest posture. She had grown taller through the years, but Adams was still taller. “I wanted to give you privacy with your family.”
By the suddenly solemn look that gave a hard edge to his features, she knew he realized she’d caught the fleeting moment of tension with Jefferson. In the same look she saw that an explanation would be a long time coming. If ever.
Secrets. There were secrets where once there had been only open trust. Perhaps it was another manifestation of the changes prison had wrought? The wedge a hard and alien life could drive into the heart of a family? Yet why with only Jefferson and not with Lincoln and Jackson?
It made no sense. But Eden knew it had been all too real.
“Stay, Eden,” Adams insisted. “My brothers and I will have plenty of time later for private talks. Being together as we are is like old times. I know better than anyone that what’s been done can’t be undone, and I know the choices of youth have changed all of us. For now, let’s not think of choices and what can’t be changed. Instead, let’s remember the way things were.”
“Hear! Hear!” Lincoln said quietly, but with his piercing gray gaze meeting his brother’s curiously.
“Yes,” Jackson joined in. Catching the spirit of Adams’ wishes, he snatched up his half-filled coffee cup. Holding it aloft as if it were a flute of champagne, with a slanted grin, he proposed a toast. “To the way things were.”
For a startled instant, no one moved. Then, one by one, with Eden leading the way, Adams and Lincoln and Jefferson each took up his own cup. Over a rumble of chuckles and the clatter of converging cups, Adams recalled another tradition from their past. “One Cade for all, and all Cades for one.”
In a continuation of that single move, he turned to Eden, his gaze touching hers, keeping it, and he added as he always had in the last of those youthful years, “And for Robbie.”
“For Robbie,” the younger Cades exclaimed, turning in concert, bowing with a natural gallantry rivaling that of their fictional heroes, Alexandre Dumas’ musketeers.
Adams called her Robbie now, and it seemed only fitting for the mood and the time it recalled. Eden hadn’t forgotten the hours she’d spent lying on sandy dunes basking in the sun, while Adams read the wonderful adventures aloud. No matter how many times they heard the stories, neither she nor the Cades ever seemed to tire of them. For her, the fascination was the beauty and the pageantry, and Adams’ voice. For the brothers, she always felt it was the camaraderie, the honor and the loyalty. And, perhaps, a gentle dream that offered shelter from a stringent, demanding life and the volatile wrath of their father.
She accepted their homage with learned grace. As she accepted, a look at Jefferson had her wondering almost sadly if changes wrought by choices and by deeds that could never be undone would make recapturing that innocent loyalty impossible.
“To Eden.”
Adams’ voice drew her from thoughts bordering on morose. Thoughts she mustn’t let color his homecoming. Looking up from her mesmerized study of the dark liquid in her cup, she found herself held in the snare of his fascinating eyes.
“Once our Robbie,” he said, lifting the cup higher. “Now the beautiful and exquisite Eden Claibourne.”
“To Eden,” the Cades called out in unison, with smiles alight and cups held high.
A twinkle in Jackson’s glance made her fearful for the safety of her cups. But instead of sending the delicate china crashing into the fireplace, he returned his to the silver tray. “Enough,” he declared with a wink at Eden. “If I drink any more of the River Walk brew, I won’t sleep for a week.”
“Since you met Inga the indefatigable, you haven’t slept in a week, anyway.”
Lincoln’s droll remark drew a spate of laughter and a comment from Jefferson. “By the way, Lincoln, what happened to sleepless in Belle Terre? With Alice, was it?”
With that bit of nonsense, the familiar wrangling began. For Eden it was truly like stepping into the past. A glance at Adams made her realize that even though he knew too little of his brothers’ lives now, he was nevertheless enjoying the banter.
For this short time memories of his exile and his father’s threatened health could be put aside. But all too soon, as she knew it must, the teasing lost its verve, and one by one the younger Cades fell as silent as their brother.
Leaving her place on the sofa, Eden wandered away, intent on setting herself apart as she sensed a time of serious discussion. Discussions in which even Robbie would be an intruder. She’d taken a seat at the window when the quiet ended.
It was Adams who brought to a close the thoughtful pause that threatened to stretch into an uncomfortable silence. “I called the hospital this morning.”
“Then you know.” Jefferson looked up from his intent study of the intricate patterns of the aged Persian carpet.
“That Gus will be released tomorrow with a team of nurses to care for him?” Adams nodded and raked a hand across the back of his neck as if he would rub away the tension. “Yes, I know.” Bleakly, he met his brother’s waiting gaze. “It was disturbing to be required to prove I have the right to ask.
“My first thought was that Gus knew I was coming, and it was by his decree that I would be denied information. Then I realized that none of the names of the staff were familiar. Doc Wilson has retired?”
“Three years ago,” Jackson supplied with regret in his tone. “One of us should have remembered to tell you.”
“In the scope of all that’s happened, it doesn’t matter.” Adams shrugged aside the oversight. He knew that in the thirteen years he’d been away, there would have been many changes he couldn’t know about. “From what the doctor told me, Gus really isn’t much improved, and there’s nothing more the hospital can do for him that the nurses can’t do at…at Belle Reve.”
Eden saw in his brothers’ faces that each recognized Adams’ reluctance to call Belle Reve home. The sorrow she saw spoke of the memory that it was the eldest of Gus Cade’s sons who loved their father and their home the most.
Adams, Gus’ whipping boy. The devoted son who bore his father’s wrath without comment or rancor. The gentleman brawler, who laughed his way through countless battles and never held a grudge. Adams, the unexpected and tender lover who, on the night of her debut, had risen from their sandy bower to ride into Rabb Town, the isolated settlement of the Rabbs, the Cades’ most bitter rivals. The beloved brother and friend who had inexplicably beaten Junior Rabb within an inch of his life, then silently endured five years in prison, the eternal damnation of his father and exile from his family.
An act without recent provocation and far too costly. None of it made sense, and Adams had never offered any explanation, never claimed any defense. Instead, for a night of strange retribution, he had lost all he loved and all that mattered in his young life.
“I couldn’t believe it then,” Eden murmured on a low sigh. “I can’t believe it now.” Clasping her hands in her lap, she shook her head vehemently. “I won’t believe it. Ever.”
“Talking to yourself, sweet Eden?” Lincoln stood over her, a quizzical look on his handsome face. “Do we bore you that much with our reminiscing?”
Mustering a smile, Eden assured him he was mistaken. “You don’t bore me. A woman would have to be dead to be bored with the illustrious Cades. Especially with all four in the same room.”
“Illustrious, huh?” Lincoln sat down beside her and took her hand in his. “That’s what you were muttering about?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe you were remembering the Adams who carried your heart in his hands?” At her sharp look, he smiled kindly. “You thought no one noticed? That, as young as we were, we couldn’t see? Sweetheart, all of us knew, even Jefferson at just thirteen. All except Adams, that is…until it was too late.”
“Why did he go there, Lincoln? Why to Rabb Town?” Eden asked the question she’d asked herself a thousand times. A question that never seemed to have an answer. “Why would he ride horseback all those miles through dangerous swamps and rough trails? Adams harbored no ill will for the Rabbs. They were the ones, they bore the animosity, hating everyone. Junior most of all. I don’t understand. None of it made any sense thirteen years ago. It makes no sense now.”
“I know, Eden.” Lincoln shrugged, but Eden knew it wasn’t in dismissal of her concern or for lack of caring.
“What do you think, Lincoln?” He was an intuitive man, a veterinarian of uncanny talents, as her grandfather had been. Since her return to Belle Terre, Eden had heard the locals discuss his unique diagnostic skills. Among those who raised horses, it was a favorite topic over dinner at River Walk. Eden couldn’t believe Lincoln’s insight was restricted to the animals he treated. “Tell me,” she pleaded. “Surely you must have some theory, some thoughts on what happened that night.”
Lincoln sat beside her. His hands gripping his knees, his head down, he was caught up in thoughts her questions raised. “What do I think?” he asked at last. “Or what do I know?”
Eden’s heart leaped at the idea there might be some evidence in Adams’ favor. Before the thought was completed, she knew its folly. If Lincoln knew anything to debunk the Rabbs’ claims, anything to disprove the sheriff’s case, he would have spoken up long ago. Even so, she wanted to hear what this wisest of Adams’ brothers might say. “Tell me. Please.”
“It isn’t much, sweet Eden.” Lincoln’s large, work-worn hand covered hers as it rested against her thigh. “It’s all conjecture at best and because I know my brother.”
“I don’t care about the whys or wherefores, Lincoln,” Eden exclaimed in a low, ragged voice. “I only want to know what you think and what you believe.” Her voice dropped to a whisper he could barely hear. “I don’t need to know why or how you came to believe it.”
“Shh,” Lincoln quieted her with a gentle squeeze of her hand. “Shh.” With his calm reaching out to her, he waited until the quick catch in her breath slowed and the flush faded from her cheeks. In all the time since she’d returned to Belle Terre, in the too-rare times their paths had crossed, he’d never seen the coolly sophisticated Eden Claibourne so wonderfully alive.
More than that, he’d never seen a woman so much in love. His brother’s life had been hard and tragic. But no man had ever been as fortunate as Adams was in Eden.
“What I believe is that my brother is innocent.” As eyes a shade darker than his own held his look steadily, a wry, humorless smile rippled across his craggy face. “What I think is that he’s hiding something. Perhaps to protect someone.”
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